


girl, the good times are coming; girl, the good times are here

by language_escapes



Series: Chosen and Defined 'Verse [25]
Category: St Trinian's, St Trinian's (2007 2009)
Genre: Birthday Party, Female Friendship, Gen, Growing Up, Traditions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-04
Updated: 2012-08-04
Packaged: 2017-11-11 10:24:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/477531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/language_escapes/pseuds/language_escapes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Chelsea's fifteenth birthday, Chloe and Peaches decide to throw her the best birthday party ever.  Featuring major renovations, birthday party blueprints, and Chloe's churning stomach.</p>
            </blockquote>





	girl, the good times are coming; girl, the good times are here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scintilla10](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scintilla10/gifts).



> Beta'd by uberniftacular. Not Britpicked because I am made of fail. In my defense, my fandom email isn't working currently, so I don't know anyone's email. But still. MADE OF FAIL.
> 
> Many, many thanks to amaresu for hosting this exchange and for wrangling the AO3 whenever I panicked at my journal. Additional thanks to lady_krysis for having wrangled AO3 in the past. You all rock!

Chloe is sitting in the dining hall, working on her homework and cursing Miss Wilson, when Peaches sits down next to her and grins.

“So,” she says, interlacing her fingers and resting her chin on them.

Chloe looks up from her chemistry book. “So,” she agrees, not quite sure to what she’s agreeing. When Peaches just continues looking at her, Chloe goes back to her chemistry homework. Anoushka refuses to tutor her again until she can balance one equation without cheating, which is just unfair, since she’s pretty sure that Anoushka only learned chemistry by copying off one of the Geeks.

“So,” Peaches says again.

“Yes, we’ve established that,” Chloe agrees, frowning at her homework. She doesn’t understand chemistry at all. At least, not the sort found in textbooks.

“So, in three days, Chelsea turns fifteen,” Peaches says, finally completing her thought. “And I was thinking that maybe we ought to do something.”

Chloe pauses, and then shuts her chemistry textbook. “Are you saying we should throw a party?”

“Oh, yes,” Peaches says, her smile growing impossibly wider. “The biggest party St. Trinian’s has ever seen.”

“That would be pretty big,” Chloe says. “That would be, like, totally epic.”

“People will write about it years from now,” Peaches agrees. “And it will all be for Chelsea. You only turn fifteen once, Chloe.”

Chloe feels her eyes well up with tears. “Our baby is growing up.” Somehow, it’s only half of what she wants to say. Her stomach is clenching.

“Let’s get planning.”

******  
For the Posh-Totties, turning fifteen is a big deal. Turning fifteen is the most important birthday for Posh-Totties. It means that you’re ready to be a _true_ Posh-Totty, in every sense.

Turning fifteen means you can finally be part of the chat line.

So most fifteenth birthdays become huge parties at St. Trinian’s. Even for the other Cliques; they probably have their reasons that fifteen is important, though Chloe has noticed that Geeks think that fourteen is more important, and the Chavs tend to celebrate the birthday after their first major fight as the most important, but nevertheless, fifteen is the year that legends are made, and they somehow manage to run out of the good alcohol by eleven at night.

To make Chelsea’s party legendary, they have a lot of work to do.

******  
Peaches has an assortment of contacts outside of St. Trinian’s, of course, and she’s more than willing to use them.

“I’m sure my mother would be less than thrilled to learn that I’m using the Syndicate in this way, but I’m equally sure she remembers her St. Trinian’s days,” Peaches says, flipping her mobile closed with a satisfied smile. They’re curled up on her bed, and Chloe has a leg draped across Peaches, an arm pillowing her head. Her other arm is stretched out above her as she carefully inspects her nails. She’s taken to biting them again. She thought she managed to kick the habit, but apparently not. She doesn’t know why she started again. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that her stomach hasn’t stopped clenching since Peaches brought up Chelsea’s birthday.

“Was your mum a Posh-Totty, too?” Chloe asks, frowning at her nails. She needs a new manicure, stat. With some of that nasty nail polish, that sort that makes you stop biting them.

“God, no. She was a Geek.”

Chloe blinks, and looks at Peaches. She’s met Peaches’ mother many, many times. She’s gorgeous. She’s scary gorgeous, even. “Oh,” she finally says. “I didn’t think…”

“She doesn’t look it, does she?” Peaches says, grinning. “But I dare you to ask her about the algorithms that go into running the Syndicate. Really. It would be nice to see someone else have to hear all that.”

“I don’t think a former Geek would approve of us having your, uh, _importers_ send us the best alcohol they can come up with,” Chloe says. 

“You can say smugglers,” Peaches says, twisting her head to look at Chloe.

Chloe wrinkles her nose. “Ewww, no. That sounds low rent.”

Peaches shrugs. “It’s what they are. And frankly, we’re billionaires, so not so low rent, I think.”

“Déclassé, then.”

“Been polishing your French up?”

“Kelly’s been tutoring me.”

Peaches giggles and buries her face into Chloe’s neck. “Oooo, Kelly? Kelly is _excellent_ at French, I hear.”

Chloe blushes and smacks Peaches lightly. “Oh, shut up. Polly the Priss would kill me.”

Peaches sobers suddenly and sits up, still leaning over Chloe and smiling, though much fainter than her usual bright, wide grin. “Should we invite the other Cliques, do you think?”

Chloe considers for a moment, staring up at Peaches. They all have friends in other Cliques, of course. Posh-Totties need the others just as much as the others need the Posh-Totties. But there is a part of her that desperately wants this to be a Posh-Totty-Only event, if only because it’s Chelsea, and she’s going to be presented with her own personal mobile, and that’s important, that’s a Posh-Totty tradition. She still remembers all the girls gathered around her, handing her her mobile on that worn but still fancy red cushion. Peaches had held her hand the entire time, a few months younger than Chloe and not yet the owner of her own phone, and it had been exciting, and terrifying, because so many women had gone before Chloe. So many other women had their own phone, their own line, their own personal address book in the old days, and it’s something that only Posh-Totties can really understand. The Geeks sneer down at them, and the Emos are too caught up in themselves to really get it. Chavs get it, sort of, but their traditions are different and strange, and they can really only offer each other mutual respect and bewilderment. Ecos are on a totally different planet.

“Maybe,” Chloe says slowly, licking her lips, “maybe have a big party for everyone, and then a smaller, specialer party just for Posh-Totties?”

Peaches’ sober expression disappears, wiped away by the wide and familiar grin that is like home for Chloe. “Sounds wonderful.”

******  
To run any Posh-Totty party, they need Saffy and Bella. Sometimes, Chloe thinks that the only thing Saffy thinks about is parties, and Bella is a happy accomplice. The classrooms are generally empty at this time of night- nobody likes to spend more time than necessary in them- which makes them a perfect meeting place. Saffy has her plans spread across the desk.

“All right, so,” Saffy says, looking down at her list. “We have the alcohol, the Banned has agreed to play, we have boys coming from the school next door, some of the Ecos are going to harvest their, um, ‘crops’, the Chavs are digging into their fireworks stash for Chelsea, and every one has been advised on the best gifts. Are we missing anything?” 

Peaches looks at Chloe, pursing her lips and shrugging. Chloe thinks about her fifteenth, trying to remember if there was anything special. 

“Can we get a cake?” she asks finally. Her birthday didn’t have a cake.

“Ooo, can we get a _special_ cake?” Peaches asks, lighting up and clapping her hands together.

Bella sits down in Saffy’s lap, smiling. “Special as in stripper?”

“Male or female?” Chloe asks, squinting at the papers that Saffy has put together. She’s pretty sure she has charted the projected amount of alcohol each person will drink, which is just amazing, since Saffy can barely add consistently.

“Good question, Chelsea likes both, doesn’t she?” Peaches says, lowering her hands.

“Yes. At least, I’ve seen her on dates with both,” Saffy says. “A few boys from the school- oh, we should make sure we haven’t accidentally invited her exes.”

“Some of her exes she might be glad to see,” Chloe points out. “Some of her exes are less exes and more playthings.”

“Would you know who those would be, so I can cross reference? I want to make sure.”

“Sure.”

“But the cake,” Peaches says insistently. “Do we want a male stripper, or a female?”

“Why can’t we do both?” Chloe asks. “Chelsea would be happy no matter what, and everyone else would be happy too.”

“Same cake, or separate ones?” Bella asks seriously.

“Let’s do separate,” Saffy says, chewing on her pencil. “I think I can find a St. Trinian’s alum to do the one cake, but she doesn’t like to work with others.”

“Will she mind another performer?”

“No, no, but her dance routine is honed to perfection, and she’s too busy to create a new one.”

Peaches squeals suddenly and grabs Chloe’s hand, squeezing it tightly. “This is going to be the best party ever!”

******  
The party _will_ be perfect, of course. It’s been planned to death, of course it’s going to be perfect. Posh-Totties are excellent at planning parties in general, but Saffy makes it an art form. Chloe isn’t worried about the party, not at all. 

What she is worried about is her gift.

She and Peaches had put together a list of ideal gifts for Chelsea, things that would welcome her more fully into the world of the Posh-Totties. She’ll be receiving designer clothes and high-end makeup, new lingerie customized to accentuate her best assets. Perfumes, naturally, and stockings with seams up the back. She’ll receive a tea set with a unique design, ballroom dance lessons, ballet lessons, singing lessons, judo lessons, everything that a Posh-Totty could ever need.

Some of her closer friends will get her things that aren’t on the list, of course. Polly has already informed Chloe that she’s getting Chelsea a book of Sappho’s poetry as translated by Anne Carson, which Chloe doesn’t understand at all, but Polly insists that Chelsea will appreciate. Chloe doesn’t understand that _friendship_ at all, let alone the gift. Kelly is getting some sort of engraved bracelet. Peaches hasn’t told her what she’s getting Chelsea, but she’s assured Chloe that it’s perfect.

Chloe has nothing.

The problem is partially money, of course. Chloe isn’t rich, not like some of the other girls. Her accent is faked, mostly, and her clothes are all gifts from Peaches. So she can’t afford to buy Chelsea something fancy and, well, posh, because she hasn’t got the funds. But she also doesn’t have many ideas. Peaches keeps telling her that the thought matters more than the price tag, but the only thought she has is patently ridiculous.

She’s lying on her bed, arm over her eyes, when the mattress dips and someone lies down next to her. She doesn’t need to open her eyes to know who it is. It’s Peaches. It’s always Peaches.

Many, many St. Trinian’s girls share beds easily and randomly, and she and Peaches are no exception. When Chloe was new to St. Trinian’s, terrified out of her mind, and too poor and too stupid and too everything, Peaches had tugged her onto her bed and reassured her, let her know that she was liked and cared for and protected. Since then, they’ve curled up together with ease. Chloe feels safest with Peaches next to her. With Peaches next to her, Chloe feels like she could take on the world and win.

“You’re brooding,” Peaches says, her voice right next to Chloe’s ear.

“Yes,” Chloe admits, sighing.

“Thinking of switching Cliques? Emos are always looking for new members.”

Chloe wrinkles her nose. “All that black? Oh God, no. Not even in my weakest, most brooding moment.”

“I don’t know, I think you’d look hot in black lipstick,” Peaches says, laughter in her voice.

Chloe drops her arm down at her side and tips her head to look at Peaches. Peaches is biting her lip, trying to hide her smile and failing.

“Really? I think I’d look like a little girl playing dress up.”

“That too.”

Chloe laughs and then plants her hands firmly over her face, groaning. “I don’t know what to get Chelsea.”

“You know she’ll love whatever you do for her,” Peaches says.

“That’s so not the point, Peaches,” Chloe says. She rolls over onto her side, tucking one arm beneath her head. Peaches rolls to face her, mirroring her pose. Her ever-present smile slowly fades under Chloe’s look. 

“What is the point?” Peaches asks gently.

“The point,” Chloe sighs, “is that I’m supposed to be her best friend, and I have no idea what to get for her. All right, I needn’t get her anything expensive, fine. But I can’t think of anything personal that I could make for her or do for her that would show that she’s one of my best friends, that I love her, that I’m excited for her birthday. I mean, I thought I could I get her a jewelry box? Get one that plays the Trinian’s school song? But that’s so silly. She’d hate it.”

Peaches looks at her for a long time, and Chloe can practically see the gears turning in her head. Peaches has always been one of the smartest of the Posh-Totties, much smarter than she lets on. Chloe has never really understood why Peaches persists in acting stupid, but then again, Chloe does the same thing, albeit probably for different reasons. She wonders, sometimes, what the world would be like if women like the Posh-Totties were willing to own their intelligence, rather than hide it behind their love of shoes, no matter how legitimate and real it is. She wonders, too, what the world would be like if women were allowed to be stupid without it being a reflection on their entire sex.

“Do you want to go in on my gift for her? Because it’s not nearly ready, and I need help,” Peaches says.

“That feels like giving up,” Chloe says.

“No,” Peaches says, the smile creeping back on her face. “If you knew what I was getting you into, you’d completely understand.”

“Is it a good gift?” Chloe asks.

Peaches reaches out and brushes the hair out of Chloe’s eyes. “The best,” she promises.

******  
“Oh. My. God,” Chloe says, looking at their dressing room.

“I know,” Peaches sighs happily. “I said it would be a good gift.”

“You also said it would be a lot of work. I wish I had listened.”

The Posh-Totty dressing room is a long tradition that only a few girls wind up following. They’re rooms where many girls will make their phone calls, get ready for dates, or just generally sit and discuss Posh-Totty business with their Posh-Totty friends. Only a few Posh-Totties decide to make one up for themselves, and even then, space is so limited that only a few girls get them. They’re usually inherited from older girls. Chloe and Peaches had decided to share theirs, when Annie Riley finally passed hers down. It’s fairly obvious from the state of the room that Peaches has decided to add Chelsea into their space.

The thing about the space is that it’s personalized, from colour to furniture style to artwork. Chloe knows plenty about style when it comes to clothing, but much less when it comes to design, so Peaches had handled the style the first time around and opted for dark walls and luxurious, almost opulent furniture. She had modeled it after a Victorian gentlemen’s club, she said, though Chloe wouldn’t have known that from a hole in the wall. Now the walls are halfway painted cream, and all the furniture is gone.

“I was thinking more gauze and light,” Peaches says, walking into the room and spinning to face Chloe. “The walls will be cream, and I’ve already added a skylight. I was thinking we could install some cabinets, curtains, more white now than browns and reds.”

“You’re going to have Chelsea join us,” Chloe says, looking around the room. It’s been their sanctuary for years now. It looks strange.

Peaches immediately looks worried, the corners of her mouth looking pinched. “I thought you’d be happy.”

And she is, of course she is, because Chelsea is one of her best friends, and she adores her. But… the dressing room has been their _sanctuary_ since they were in their third year at St Trinian’s. It’s been the one place where it was just Peaches and Chloe, the two of them against the world. Even Chelsea couldn’t come in without their permission. Chelsea is one of her best friends, but Peaches was her first friend. Peaches found her and protected her and loved her before anyone else did. She can’t help but mourn the loss of having Peaches all to herself.

But if Peaches found Chloe, then Chloe found Chelsea, and she supposes it is a cycle. Besides, she can’t really begrudge Chelsea her place in their world. She’s the one who welcomed her into it.

It’s her fifteenth birthday.

“I’ll miss it just being the two of us,” she says finally, “But I like the idea of it being the three of us.”

“Good,” says Peaches. She reaches down and hands Chloe a paint roller. “Let’s get to work.”

******  
It turns out that redoing their dressing room is _hard_. Chloe didn’t really have much to do with it the first time around, content to let Peaches figure it out, and she regrets that now, standing in the middle of the room with her paint roller and the feeling of despair washing over her.

“This is impossible, isn’t it?” she says, looking at the wall they still need to finish. They’ve been at this for _hours_. She doesn’t understand how there is still another wall to paint.

“No,” Peaches said, not even trying to sound convincing. “Of course not.”

Chloe shoots Peaches an irritated look, but softens when she sees how wilted she looks. “Couldn’t John help?” she asks, thinking of Peaches’ bodyguard that is somehow always there, even when he very explicitly isn’t, he’s said so, look the other way.

“John’s in London,” Peaches says, walking to the wall and starting to roll paint on it. “His mother needed him.”

Chloe wrinkles her nose. John is tall and bald and every stereotype of a bodyguard ever. It’s hard to imagine him with a mother. “Really?”

“His mother is my mother’s bodyguard, so there’s probably something more to it, but I didn’t ask. We’re nearly finished, anyway.”

Chloe looks at the wall where Peaches has managed to roll three little stripes of paint. “Really?” she says again, this time sarcastic and, admittedly, bitter.

Peaches turns and puts her hands on her hips, paint dripping down her trousers. “Let’s play pretend,” she says, a terrifying smile appearing on her face. “We’ll pretend we’re nearly finished and that we’re not regretting this, and while doing that, we’ll imagine the look on Chelsea’s face when she sees this, and it will get us through, and we’ll be happy, understood?”

Chloe backs up. “Understood.”

“Good,” Peaches says, relaxing and returning to the wall. “Because we have yet to do the crown molding, put in the carpet and cabinets, and arrange the furniture.”

Chloe looks bleakly around the room. “How many days until the birthday party?” she asks, hopelessness creeping into her bones despite Peaches’ failure of a pep talk.

“Two. Start painting.”

******  
Somehow, they finish with almost seven hours to spare. Chloe still doesn’t know how, but they do, and the room looks beautiful. The skylight makes everything brighter, and the gauzy curtains used to separate the rest of the room from their clothes collection makes things seem both innocent and sexy all at once. Everything is white and pristine. It screams of truth and purity and everything that she and Peaches aren’t, but Chelsea somehow is.

“Oh my God,” Peaches breathes, covered in paint and plaster and glue, looking more exhausted than Chloe has seen her in years. She leans her head against Peaches’ shoulder and looks around the room, smiling faintly.

“It’s gorgeous,” she says.

“Oh my God,” Peaches says again. “It isn’t just gorgeous. It’s perfect.”

It is, somehow. It’s so different from their old dressing room, but Chloe likes this better. It’s fresher. It’s new.

“A new start,” she says, closing her eyes.

“Oh my God,” Peaches says yet again, and Chloe finds herself wanting to smack Peaches, make her say something else, but she continues on. “We only have seven hours until the party! I have plaster in my _hair_. Shower, shower, I need a shower!”

Chloe smiles.

******  
“You’re still brooding,” Peaches says, hooking her chin over Chloe’s shoulder and staring at her in the lavatory mirror.

Chloe knows she is, and it’s so stupid because she can’t figure out why. She is genuinely happy that Chelsea is joining them in the dressing room, and she’s not worried about gift-giving anymore since Peaches was right, reshaping the dressing room really is the ideal present. There is no reason for her gut to still be twisting so horribly. There is no reason that she should feel like bursting into tears like a melodramatic Emo, but there it is. She feels sick and she wants to cry and she doesn’t know why.

“I don’t know why,” she tells Peaches, the only person to whom she’s always been entirely honest.

Peaches wraps her arms around Chloe’s waist and hugs her. “Well, stop. It’s all going to be lovely.”

“It’s not that,” Chloe says, knowing it’s the truth despite not knowing what, precisely, it is. “It’s me.”

Peaches offers her a thoughtful frown, but settles for kissing Chloe swiftly on the cheek and walking out of the lavatory.

Chloe stares at the mirror for a long time.

******  
The party is splendid. There is plenty of alcohol and dancing and boys and girls. The strippers are actually superb dancers, and the St. Trinian’s alumna is more than happy to let Chelsea lick the frosting off of her. There are party games (one of which culminates with Chelsea snogging a grapefruit, and Chloe is fairly sure she doesn’t know what led to that), and Chelsea adores the gifts that people give her.

“Ballroom dancing!” she screams, looking at the certificate and scanning the crowd of well-wishers. “Oh my God, thank you so much, Gerthe!”

Gerthe smiles and blushes. “I included two extra ones, for Peaches and Chloe, if you’d like.”

Chelsea squeals and moves onto the next gift. Anoushka, who is sitting next to Chloe, stubs out her cigarette and smiles darkly. “That one is from me,” she whispers, pointing at the box that Chelsea has just selected. “I think she will like it.”

Chelsea opens the box with the same reverence she has for every other gift. Chloe has always admired how enthusiastic Chelsea is about everything. She thinks it is precious. “What is it?” she asks in undertone.

Anoushka’s grin is sly and dangerous. “Perfect,” she says, which isn’t an answer, but then Chelsea pulls what looks like a set of hair combs out of the box.

“Oh, they’re lovely,” Chelsea says, looking a bit perplexed. They are, of course. They’re silver with an antique looking floral pattern at the top.

“They’re steel,” Anoushka says, smirking. “They’re both sharp enough to pierce the skin, and the left one is a camera as well.”

“Oh!” Chelsea says, brightening. “Defensive and decorative! I love it!”

Chloe says nothing and settles for giving Anoushka a look, but Anoushka ignores her in favor of walking away to go talk to one of the Geeks, Etta. Chloe suspects that Etta had something to do with the camera in the left hair comb.

The party winds down shortly thereafter, and Peaches manages to dismiss all the boys and other Cliques in such a way that no one is disgruntled or annoyed. Once they’re gone, and it’s just the Posh-Totties, Peaches brings out the cushion.

Chloe doesn’t know if it’s true, of course, but the myth around the red cushion is that every Posh-Totty ever has been presented their mobile on that cushion. Before there were mobiles, they were presented with their own telephone to hook into the system, and before that, their own personalized address book. There has always been something to present on the red cushion. Peaches thinks that it’s just a story, something pretty to tell new girls, but Chloe likes to believe in that red cushion. She likes to imagine Posh-Totties, past and present, brushing their fingertips against the worn velvet as they’ve picked up whatever unique and special gift they’ve been given. She likes the idea of that history. She likes the connection.

“Chelsea Parker,” Peaches says. “It is time.”

It’s dramatic, of course, but it’s the same thing that Catzie said to both of them when presenting them with their mobile. Chloe bites back her smile, trying to aim for solemnity and knowing that she’s failing.

Chelsea stands up and walks forward, staring at the pillow.

“On this day, your fifteenth birthday, you join the Posh-Totty chat line. The chat line comes with many duties as well as privileges. To honor your coming of age, we present you with a new mobile. Use it well,” Peaches says, and smiles at Chelsea. For a moment, though, she looks past Chelsea and meets Chloe’s eye.

For a moment, Peaches’ smile is just for Chloe.

Chloe watches as Chelsea reaches out to take her mobile, forces herself to memorize the moment when Chelsea’s fingertips graze the velvet before lifting the phone away, and finds herself tearing up. It’s silly, really, but it’s her myth.

“Thank you,” Chelsea says softly, looking at the phone in her hand as if it were a rare jewel rather than just a shitty phone they bought from the nearest store. It’s the idea more than anything, Chloe thinks. The story. It’s just a symbol, but it means that Chelsea is growing up and becoming a woman, and it means the world to every Posh-Totty.

Next year, Chelsea will start thinking about her Posh-Totty tattoo, the tattoo that Peaches and Chloe will be picking out in the next few weeks, though all Posh-Totties begin thinking about it the moment they join the Clique. There will be another big to-do when she goes to the tattoo parlor to get it, and there will be more parties and rituals and ridiculous things that don’t mean anything except in the way that they mean everything. But this is her first big step, and Chloe is really, really happy she’s here to witness it.

Chelsea turns her mobile on, and all the Posh-Totties start to cheer. Chloe claps through her tears.

******  
“All right, watch out, wall there, no, no, stop,” Chloe says, carefully guiding a blindfolded Chelsea around a corner rather known for being boobytrapped at random intervals. The First Years have their fun, and since they were all First Years once, nobody begrudges them that. Much.

“Where are we going?” Chelsea asks, twisting her head as though she’ll be able to see if she does it enough. 

Chloe tugs strands of Chelsea’s hair out of her mouth (a hazard of standing right behind her) and says, “Well, if we told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise now, would it, silly?”

“I don’t like surprises,” Chelsea whines.

“Don’t be ridiculous, you love surprises,” Chloe says, laughing.

“I do,” Chelsea sighs, bumping into a wall despite Chloe’s careful steering. “It’s a problem of mine. Where’s Peaches? I would have thought she’d be here for this.”

“She just ran on ahead,” Chloe explains, hoping that she gave Peaches enough time to make some last minute adjustments to the dressing room. She isn’t sure what Peaches wanted to do, really, since they had made as wonderful as possible, but Peaches can be a bit of a perfectionist.

Chloe moves her down the last hallway and finally brings her to a halt in front of their dressing room. She reaches out and touches the door frame, the wood rough under her fingers, and sighs. 

She is no closer to figuring out why her stomach is betraying her, but it has nothing to do with Chelsea or the dressing room or anything at that moment. So she makes a decision, right there in front of their door, to let it go. She releases her breath, which she hadn’t even realized she was holding, and relaxes. She takes her hand off the door frame, thinking again of Chelsea’s hand on the cushion, of her own hand touching that velvet just last year. She’s getting older, they all are, and it will all be okay.

“Take off your blindfold,” she tells Chelsea. Chelsea reaches up and tugs it down, frowning when she realizes where she is.

“I’m not allowed in there,” she points out. “That’s your dressing room.”

Chelsea is taller than Chloe by rather a lot, but she still manages to look at Chloe as though she needs to look up. There is complete trust in Chelsea’s look, and Chloe remembers when they first met, when Chelsea was standing by the school gates and clinging to a thin, wispy woman, looking utterly terrified and excited all at once. Chloe had introduced herself and offered to show her around. They’ve been best friends ever since.

“Things change,” Chloe says simply. “Times change. Chels?”

“Yeah?”

Chloe reaches up and wraps her arms around Chelsea’s shoulders, squeezing her tightly. She smells like lavender. It was one of the perfumes that she got from Laksha. “Happy birthday.”

Chelsea hugs her back and when she pulls back, she looks calm and ecstatic all at once. “Thank you.”

Chloe finds herself wanting to cry again, but she suppresses the instinct and instead gestures at the door. “Go ahead. Go in.”

Chelsea gives her an uncertain look, and then opens the door. Chloe follows, smiling when she hears Chelsea gasp. She watches Chelsea look around the room, her eyes huge. Chloe sneaks a glance over at Peaches, who is standing in the corner, wearing her lingerie and a dressing gown over it, beaming proudly. Surreptitiously, Peaches points at the vanity and raises her eyebrows.

In the middle of the vanity, there’s an engraved wooden jewelry box that says “Chelsea Parker” on it in elaborate script. Chloe hasn’t seen it before, but she supposes that Peaches wanted to add a personal touch to the dressing room to welcome Chelsea further. Chloe nods at Peaches and then looks back to Chelsea. Chelsea is standing in the middle of the room, looking like she wants to see everything at once and can’t figure out which way to turn her head.

“Welcome to our dressing room, Chelsea. It’s yours now, too,” Chloe says, as if it weren’t perfectly clear.

Chelsea presses her hands against her mouth, and Chloe can see the tears running down her face in the mirror. She reaches out one hand to touch the jewelry box, but then draws back, as though terrified. Chloe slips past her and goes to stand next to Peaches. She feels ridiculously overdressed, still in her school uniform while Peaches is wearing a corset and little else. Peaches reaches out and grabs her hand, squeezing it once.

“Oh,” Chelsea says, voice small. “It’s too much.”

“Nonsense,” Peaches scoffs instantly, flapping a hand in the air. “You’re our best friend. Open the box.”

Chelsea goes and sits down in front of the mirror, looking at the box. It’s actually rather simple looking, despite the posh carving. She opens it, and it starts to play the St. Trinian’s school song with a tinkly little sound, and Chloe can just make out an inscription on the inside. 

_To Chelsea, on the occasion of her fifteenth birthday, from Chloe._

Chloe gives Peaches a sharp look, but Peaches just keeps smiling as though blissfully unaware of Chloe’s surprise. Chelsea stares down at the box and bursts into messy, ugly tears. 

“No, no, don’t do that!” Chloe says, rushing forward and closing the box. She feels numb. It’s exactly what she wanted to get Chelsea, if she hadn’t been afraid and if she’d had the money. She wants to hit Peaches and hug her all at once.

“You’ll smear your mascara,” Peaches agrees, tugging a tissue from a box on the vanity and dabbing away Chelsea’s tears.

“It’s just so perfect!” Chelsea wails. “I don’t deserve this!”

“You’re our best friend,” Chloe repeats. “Of course you do.”

Chelsea wipes desperately at her tears, one hand resting on the jewelry box, the other tracing patterns over the top of the vanity. 

Peaches smiles at them both in the mirror and drops a kiss on top of Chelsea’s head. “Come on. Let’s do makeovers! And you need to try on your new lingerie and model for us, of course! Chloe, get changed, we’ll make a slumber party out of it!”

And that is how, of course, they wind up spending the rest of Chelsea’s birthday in their lingerie, eating chocolate and arguing about the best way to apply eye liner.

******  
After Chelsea’s birthday is over and done and shockingly little has changed beyond the fact that Chelsea can roll on her stockings in the dressing room with them, rather than in the dorms with everyone running around, Chloe manages to get Peaches alone.

She’s in the dressing room, applying her mascara, and Chloe takes the tube from her, leaning one hip against the vanity while finishing the job for Peaches, careful to make her lashes as long as she can. It’s easy, really. Peaches has ridiculously long eyelashes.

“You didn’t tell me about the music box,” she says.

Peaches looks up at her, some of the mascara winding up on her eye ridge. Chloe licks her thumb and rubs it off.

“Are you upset with me?” Peaches asks softly. “I know it upsets people, sometimes, when I do things like that.”

“Thank you,” Chloe says simply. “I wanted to get her something.”

“It was a jolly good idea,” Peaches agrees.

Chloe doesn’t say much after that, just focuses on making Peaches’ eyes as perfect as she can. Peaches continues to look up at her.

“We’re growing up,” Chloe says finally. It isn’t half of what she wants to say, but it’s the truest thing she can. Because she’s figured it out, finally, what was ripping her stomach to shreds. It isn’t that she regrets letting Chelsea into the space that used to belong to just her and Peaches. She loves Chelsea too much to resent that. It isn’t that she liked the way the room looked before more- in fact, she much prefers the lighter look. Peaches likes dark and rich, but Chloe prefers things to be softer and brighter. She likes the new dressing room so much more.

It’s that if Chelsea is moving in, that means that they’re all getting older, and Chloe won’t be able to define herself as a Posh-Totty forever.

It’s a hard thought, and somewhat laughable considering she’s a fifth former and has two more years at St. Trinian’s. She isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. But she’ll be turning sixteen in just a few months, and then she’ll be getting her tattoo, and then it will be just about time to graduate and become an adult. Chloe isn’t ready for that yet. 

Peaches pulls back, pushing Chloe’s hand away gently. “Yes, we are.”

“We’re going to be in the sixth form next year. We’ll be designing our tattoos in the next few weeks. People will start pestering us about if we’re going to try for University, and what we want to do with our lives, and all that adult stuff,” Chloe says, putting the mascara away. Her stomach does somersaults unhappily. It’s the first time she’s done that. It’s the first time she’s acknowledged it out loud.

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t it scare you?” Chloe asks, looking at Peaches. Peaches looks away from her and for a moment, she frowns. It’s always startling when Peaches frowns. It looks unnatural on her. And then Peaches forces a smile back on, a small one, so unlike her usual smile that Chloe knows for a fact that it’s pretend, for her sake. Peaches reaches for her hairbrush and starts running it through her hair.

“Chloe, I’ve known since I was five-years-old that I was going to grow up and become the head of the Kaluwitharana Syndicate. I’ve known my future forever.”

“Does that scare you?” Chloe asks, knowing Peaches far too well.

Peaches ties her hair back into a simple ponytail and then, finally, nods. “Yes. Very much.” Then she sighs and looks at Chloe in the mirror. “But I can’t change it, and it’s going to happen no matter what I do, so why should I worry about it?”

Chloe thinks about that for a minute, letting her hand rest against the vanity. Peaches reaches out and puts her hand on top of Chloe’s. 

“I’m always going to be your best friend,” she says. “No matter what else changes, that never will.”

It’s reassuring, somehow. Peaches goes to class, and Chloe sits down in her vacant chair. She looks at herself in the mirror for a moment, trying to imagine herself in two years time, three years, four, and then very deliberately closes her eyes, takes a deep breath and lets it all go.

******  
And then things are back to normal. They teach Chelsea some techniques for managing her callers. They teach her when to keep the phone call going, and when to hang up, and when to block a number. They teach her it’s okay to leave her mobile off, that she’s not obligated to be part of the chat line. Remarkably, though, there isn’t much else to teach her. Chelsea is a natural Posh-Totty in every way.

A few weeks later, Chloe starts working on her tattoo design, and the three of them start discussing their plans for summer hols. Peaches will be away in Sri Lanka for the first three weeks, but they plan on going clubbing as soon as she gets back. There’s also a concert they want to go to, but they have to scrounge up the money first. Later they’ll go visit Saffy and Bella up north, as they have done for the past two summers, but that’s inevitable, a foregone conclusion, and doesn’t need to be planned. Peaches is going to be part of the Triumvirate next year, and they’re all terribly excited for her. JJ French is the next Head Girl, and they throw a party for her in celebration. It isn’t as grand as Chelsea’s birthday party, but it’s still fun.

The world turns, and things keep going. Nothing changes, but everything does all at once, and Chloe remembers to breathe through all of it. She sits down in their dressing room every day, beams at Chelsea, offers a quieter smile to Peaches if only because Peaches’ smiles are always so exuberant, puts on her makeup, and, slowly, achingly, comes to terms with growing up.


End file.
